A Lone Wolf
by lexxie r
Summary: (I'm sorry, the vignette fairy bit me.) Something's on the prowl during a restless night in warlord Xena's camp.


Body ** A Lone Wolf** By Lexxie

***

DISCLAIMER: None of the characters from _ X:WP_ belong to me. Score one for Rob Tapert, and Co. No copyright infringement was intended, no money has been made from this, yadda yadda yadda.

SEX/VIOLENCE/LANGUAGE: Pretty clean save for one bad word. PG.

TIMELINE: Back in Evil Xena's time, after Ch'in. I've taken a few small liberties, so just smile and nod, ok?

FEEDBACK: Highly appreciated. I'm at ** mistiblu02@hotmail.com**.

***

Marcus saw the dark figure of his general crouched several yards from the tent, his head cradled in his hands as the moon threw his somber silhouette across the craggy earth. The Nubian cocked his head slightly, frowning in sympathy as he guessed what had happened. His dark gaze swung to the large tent, lingered there a moment, then settled back on Borias' unsuspecting form. He deliberated for a few seconds before slowly making his way toward the Hun, his boots loudly snapping the brittle twigs in his path. 

"So what did you do this time?"

At his quietly teasing voice, Borias unwound his fingers from his thick, braided hair and raised his head, a wry smile on his rugged features. "Nothing too special, apparently."

Marcus only nodded in understanding and lowered his lanky frame onto the ground beside the other man. "The lion's on the warpath again?" he asked as he stared raptly ahead into the dim night.

"Isn't she always?" was the laconic reply.

Marcus shifted his gaze a moment to blink at Borias. "I thought you'd leveled things out with her already. She hasn't blown up in a while, so I just assumed that she'd forgiven you."

Borias snorted and shook his head at the notion. "Xena does not forgive quite that easily, my friend," he said gruffly. "She may never mention it again, and I'll be damned if I ever bring it up, but to her, I became the enemy when I handed her over in Ch'in."

Marcus shrugged and returned his intense gaze to shadows around them. Somewhere in the darkness, something slunk stealthily toward the army's camp. His uncanny senses promptly stirred to life, though his demeanor remained calm. "Well, it was a damned stupid move. _ Sir_," he replied instead.

Beside him, Borias' broad shoulders heaved slightly as he mirthlessly chuckled. "She thought so, too."

A silence fell between them. Borias sighed heavily and tilted his head back to gaze into the twilight sky. With resigned eyes he memorized the stars above him, taking small comfort in their feeble flickering. Beside him, Marcus tensed, his ears prickling as his senses tracked the smooth movements of the silent predator in the woods around them. Nearer, nearer...

"Sir, we raid Nemas at dawn," Marcus said pointedly, as if his general needed reminding. "You might want to get some sleep."

"Where? In there?" Borias shot a barbed look over his shoulder. Following his gaze, Marcus swiveled his head around and stared at Xena's tent. A warm orange glow from withinthrew a long, restless shadow against the tent's walls, the figure inside as sleepless as the brooding man beside him. Borias shook his head, a muscle ticking by his jaw. "No, not tonight."

Marcus pursed his lips. "You'd be warm, at least."

A short bark of laughter cut through the still night air in response. "Not with her. Never with her. The woman's ice cold." Borias shook his head and grew somber as he thought of the tent's occupant — the way she had looked at him. A cat playing with its prey. "You know, sometimes I think that she'd happily rip my throat out with a smile," he said quietly, with a beaten man's acceptance. 

Marcus wrinkled his brow even as his hand crept over the dagger by his waist in anticipation of the silent stalker. "Then why do you stay?"

Silence. And it told him more than he could ever have hoped to know. The stalker in the woods temporarily forgotten, Marcus bowed his head and threw a sideways glance at Borias. His jaw was clenched, a madly pulsing muscle belying his stillness. The Hun's chiseled profile was obscured by the night, but his pain was palpable. Marcus understood.

"You love her."

Borias closed his eyes and let the silence stretch on for a few seconds. Finally, he replied, "She wants too much. Expects too much." He opened his eyes and met Marcus' unreadable stare. "She's a hard woman to love."

Marcus looked away, residual honor preventing him from intruding on this man's private pain. Willing his senses to focus instead, he suspiciously eyed the surrounding darkness. Trained ears caught the faint sound of rustling leaves. It had crept closer in the few moments he had allowed his attention to slip and he could just make out a dark, lithe shadow moving toward them. Noiselessly, he drew the dagger from its sheath and rose fluidly to his feet.

"We're about to be attacked," he murmured softly to Borias, who remained seated on the ground.

The Hun snapped out of his reverie and raised his head at the warning. Drawing his own sword, he rose to a half-crouch and looked expectantly at Marcus. 

"Ten yards straight ahead," Marcus replied to the silent question. 

Borias' eyes strained to see beyond the deepening shadows for any sign of the attacker. His senses were not as sensitive as the other man's, but he could just make out the soft crunch of brittle leaves as something slowly approached. Training his eyes on a long, dark lump, he nudged Marcus. The shadow languidly slipped forward, detaching itself from its mates and making its way toward the men. 

Tensing his hand around the hilt of his sword, Borias stepped forward, prepared to land the first blow. 

Suddenly, the shadow leaped into the air, growling deep in its throat. Borias and Marcus instinctively ducked, feeling the rush of air as the large black creature lunged past them. Stumbling to his feet, Borias swung around and glared at their attacker. Massive and dark, it restlessly paced the earth in front of the tent, its silver-flecked back flexing sinuously. Primal eyes glared back at the stunned Hun, and somewhere in the back of his mind he laughed as he realized that he recognized that cold gaze.

"A _ wolf_?" Marcus breathed beside him. 

It growled in response, baring shockingly white fangs, and Marcus jumped back, his muscles taut and ready. Dimly, he heard his general return his sword to its scabbard, but he tightened his grip on his dagger. Twirling the blade once in his hand, he cocked his arm, preparing to throw. With a deft flick of his wrist, the dagger flew from his grasp toward the crouching wolf. 

He was only dimly aware of Borias' warning yell and the tall figure that silently emerged from the tent just then. Marcus could only watch frozen as the wolf deftly jumped out of the dagger's path. With a final grey-eyed glare, the animal gracefully leaped back into the shadows, its dark form melting seamlessly with the night.

The glitter of silver caught his eye, causing him to snap his eyes back to the tent. His wayward dagger continued to spin toward the tent, but in a movement quick as lightning, the imposing figure standing there snatched the weapon out of the air. A long-fingered hand now held the blade with practiced nonchalance. It's owner stared at him, silent and expectant. An imperious eyebrow arched above a glacial blue eye, and Marcus felt the need to respond. 

"Xena," he said carefully, unconsciously straightening his stance. 

Xena stared at him for a long second before nodding slightly. "Marcus," she said, her tone unreadable. Without moving her head, she shifted her cool gaze to the Hun beside him. Marcus felt Borias stiffen subtly as he valiantly held the woman's stare. The tense moment stretched on and Marcus felt himself grow uncomfortable as the two silently dueled. Seconds passed before Borias finally shook his head and abruptly turned on his heel, walking briskly away. 

Xena watched his retreating back, head tilted to the side, eyes laughing. With an amused slant to her lips, she asked Marcus, "Was it something I said?" 

The Nubian nearly smiled at the almost-humor in her voice, but caught himself when he remembered whom he was addressing. He hedged beneath that relentless, blank stare she was giving him; he got the feeling that she found some perverse delight in his discomfort, but the thought scarcely surprised him anymore. He coughed pointedly, forced his eyes to meet hers and stiffly said, "I've a report on the troops if you'd care to hear it, Xena."

"Actually, I'm more interested in your sudden desire to use my tent for target practice," Xena said, ignoring his offer. Pointedly, she twirled the dagger between her fingers so flashes of silver moonlight glanced off the smooth surface.

Marcus took a deep breath and addressed the spot of grimy tent just above Xena's regal head. "I'm sorry. I thought it was an ambush. Reflexes just got away from me."

"Yes, your reflexes," she said thoughtfully. "You know, someone could've gotten hurt," she added. Marcus saw daggers in her own eyes.

He cleared his throat, as if trying to dispel some of his discomfort. "It won't happen again."

"Of course not." She was tossing the dagger in her hand now, catching and throwing in quick flourishes. He inwardly gulped at the tone of her voice when she continued, eyes glued on the blade she manipulated. "You're really tense tonight, though, aren't you? Such commotion over a lone wolf, Marcus. I recruited you for your tracking skills, not your nerves." 

"Mateo reported seeing a wolf by the supply hut just last night," he said a bit defensively. "This one tonight might've been the leader. There could be a whole pack of hungry dogs around the camp."

"Oh, it was the leader, all right," she said, finally raising her eyes to his face. "But she's alone."

There must have been a question written on his dark face for Xena added with a shrug, "I've seen her before. Always growling, always sniffing. She's just hungry, Marcus. Just hunting. And you should know by now that the greatest predators hunt alone." She gave the dagger a high toss as if for punctuation, but Marcus was caught by the curious something surfacing in her eyes.

Suddenly, as he felt the full force of her stare, Marcus realized what Borias must feel like around her. "I — I should prepare. For the raid," he finally said, ignoring the breath that caught in his throat as she smiled knowingly at him, quietly laughing at his discomfort.

"Prepare?"

"Pray." When he saw her brow quirk, he clarified. "It's a warrior's tradition in my tribe to spend the night in prayer before battle. For luck."

Xena cocked her head to the side. "Funny, I never saw you as the religious sort, Marcus. And who, may I ask, is the benevolent deity in question?"

Marcus frowned slightly. He knew it was not such a strange ritual for the Greek warriors, and it surprised him that she would even ask. "Ares," he replied. 

"To Ares?" There was no mistaking the amusement in Xena's voice. She shook her head and even spared him a slight smile. "A word of advice, Marcus. Save your breath and leave the luck to me," she said, and Marcus noted with some curiosity the almost warm look in his leader's eyes.

Marcus opened his mouth, another question hanging on his lips, but thought better of it. "Yes," he simply said and moved away from her, toward the direction Borias had taken. He counted his steps, eagerly wanting to get as far away from the enigmatic woman as possible, but also fighting the urge to turn around. He had just reached ten when he heard her call out from behind him. 

"Oh, and Marcus —" He turned immediately on his heel and barely saw the flashing glint of silver as the dagger was thrown back at him. Breath catching violently, his hand shot out in blind reflex, catching the blade just inches from his wide eyes. 

A few paces away, Xena grinned widely at him, teeth gleaming in the night. 

"Work on your aim," she finished. With a low chuckle at his stunned expression, she drifted back inside her tent. 

For a long moment after she had gone, Marcus stood where he was, staring at the cool blade he held in his callused hands. In his large palm, the silver blade looked deceptively delicate. Experimentally, he gave the dagger a toss just as Xena had. He grunted when the pointed tip grazed the skin between his thumb and forefinger. 

He sheathed the weapon back into the scabbard on his waist and made his way back to his own tent, stopping just once to pause and listen as a wolf's somber howl floated through the night.

FIN 


End file.
